“Seven years of it with the Wings.”
“Good. Congratulations, Florone. You’re now a general.”
The colonel blinked in surprise. “Sir?”
“Take command of the Second. Bring their artillery around to the south and have the gun crews standing by. Have your infantry dig in to the east and west.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know who I can trust in Hilanska’s brigades. You might get stabbed in the back by the end of the day. If you have any trusted support staff, take them with you.”
“Yes sir.”
“And General, have Mihali sent up here, would you?”
Florone hesitated for a moment. “No one’s told you yet?”
“Told me what?”
“Mihali is dead. He was killed by Kresimir two weeks ago.”
Tamas whirled to look back at the Kez formations and a cold sweat broke out over his body, the back of his neck pricked by an eerie sensation of shock and grief, breaking the calm of his powder trance. If Mihali was dead, why hadn’t Adro been swept aside already? There shouldn’t be anything left of Adopest or the Adran army but dust without Mihali to balance his brother’s power, and yet the country and its capital still stood.
What could possibly be holding Kresimir back?
His attention was caught by movement in the Wings of Adom camp, and soon Vlora was racing back up the hillside. She blew past the Adran sentries and didn’t stop until she reached Tamas, leaping from her horse and tossing the reins to a startled messenger.
“Where’s Ket?” Tamas asked.
“Gone,” Vlora gasped. “She was ousted by Abrax and Adamat just yesterday on accusations of profiteering. Abrax thought it might mend the schism between the camps, but… sir, are you wounded?”
“It didn’t mend the schism,” Tamas said, “because Hilanska planned a betrayal all along. And what the pit is Adamat doing down here? Damn it all, this is when I needed Ket the most. Aside from Hilanska, she was the most capable commander here. Where’s Abrax?”
“On her way here.”
“We don’t have more than a couple of hours before the Kez attack. Gather the General Staff—I want as many senior officers as you can get within twenty minutes. We’ll send orders to the rest via messengers. Olem, what did you find?”
Olem arrived at a sprint and paused briefly to catch his breath. “He left everything. Hilanska’s been in bed with the Kez since the beginning. I found dozens of letters.”
“Anything to tell us who his accomplices are?”
“I haven’t had time to sort through it all.”
“Time. Bloody pit, we need time more than anything else. I can’t plan a defensive on such short notice, not against that monstrosity.”
“Olem,” Vlora said, “did you find Hilanska’s personal seal?”
“It was there with everything else.”
“Get me a fresh horse!” Vlora yelled.
Tamas asked, “Where are you going?”
“I need one of the Wings’ code breakers,” Vlora said. “Someone who can replicate Hilanska’s cipher. If we move quickly, I think I can buy us an extra day.”
Tamas dictated a message for the Kez commanders based on the language Hilanska used in his own letters and notes, then had a Wings code breaker translate it into Hilanska’s cipher. The message stated that Hilanska would be able to get someone close enough to Abrax to assassinate her if she let down her guard, but that that would require the Kez to appear to withdraw and get ready for an attack the next day.
The whole process took nearly two hours and looked, to Tamas’s eye, like a rush job. It would be a miracle if the Kez believed it.
But if they did, it would buy them twenty-four precious hours to prepare for the Kez attack. Time they desperately needed in order to have any chance at winning this battle.
Tamas lifted his eyes to Olem, who was waiting in the entry to the command tent, hand casually on his pistol, as the Wings’ code breaker applied Hilanska’s own hot wax and seal to the forged message. Tamas took it from him and blew on the wax to cool it, then handed it over to Olem.
Olem snapped a salute. “I’ve found a few of my most loyal Riflejacks, sir. I’ll send one of them over to the Kez with it.”
“They know it’s a terrible risk? If the Kez sniff out the deception, they’ll be killed. Or worse.”
“Already have a man for the job. He knows.”
“Good. That’s the only message I want going to the Kez. Tell the sentries they are to shoot on sight anyone who makes a break for the Kez lines. They can’t know I’m back.”
Tamas nodded a dismissal. When Olem was gone, he turned uncomfortably toward the code breaker, feeling the wound from Hilanska’s knife open at the movement and send a stab of pain through his belly that he tried to suppress. Slowly, hoping that the code breaker didn’t see his fingers shaking, Tamas broke open a powder charge and sprinkled a bit of black powder on his tongue. The resulting powder trance settled in, stilling the pain.
“Good work, soldier,” Tamas said.
“Thank you, sir,” the code breaker said. “If I may say so, it’s a pleasure to have you back. I know Brigadier Abrax is relieved.”
Tamas forced a smile. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s good to be back. You know, we didn’t have professional code breakers back in the Gurlish Wars. I had to make do with giving some of my cleverest men special duty. It didn’t even occur to anyone to make it a regular duty until Lord Winceslav. I’ve been telling myself for fifteen years that we need our own code breakers in the Adran army, but somehow it always got pushed down the list.”
“I had the good fortune to work with Lord Winceslav,” the code breaker said. “He was a very intelligent man.”
“I agree. It was a shame to lose him. But your Lady is far more clever than her husband was. I always wondered if she came up with the idea for the code breakers and let her late husband take the credit.”
The code breaker remained silent, looking down at his feet.
“I’m sorry if I ramble. You don’t have to respond to that.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Olem returned a moment later, giving Tamas a sharp nod to tell him that the messenger had left. “Soldier,” Tamas said to the code breaker, “you can head to the mess and get some breakfast. Or lunch. I don’t even know what bloody time it is.”
“Sir, permission to return to the Wings?”
Tamas glanced at Olem, who stepped up next to the code breaker. “Sorry, soldier, but you’re going to have to stay here for a while. We’re keeping it quiet that Field Marshal Tamas has returned. It’ll make it easier to pull one over on the Kez.”
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”
“We’d prefer not to risk it,” Olem said.
The code breaker glanced between Tamas and Olem. “Sir?”
“I’m sorry,” Tamas said. “We’re keeping it quiet even among our own men for as long as we can. We have to weigh the morale boost against the need for secrecy.”
The code breaker frowned, then took a deep breath and straightened, snapping out a salute. “I understand, sir.”
“Good. I’ll let Abrax know how well you did here today.”
Olem led the man outside and then returned a moment later with Vlora. She looked dusty and tired, but her step was crisp. He could tell by the smell of her that she had been burning a powder trance all morning.
“How goes it over in the Wings’ camp?” Tamas asked.
Vlora saluted, then dropped into a chair across from Tamas. “If the Kez still attack today, it’s going to be a rough thing. The Wings have three brigades pointed toward us. Abrax says if this ruse works, she’ll have time to wheel them around and be able to throw everything she has at the Kez by the middle of tomorrow morning.”
“And so we wait,” Tamas said.
Vlora nodded. “We wait.” She and Olem exchanged an unreadable glance. Tamas had been too focused on walking th
e line between going powder blind and managing the pain of his aching body with a powder trance during the mad ride from the Deliv border to Adopest. But whatever they had seemed to have cooled. “Has any word of my presence reached the Wings infantry?”
“Abrax is keeping it to herself and just two of her brigadiers. She agrees that we need to keep it a secret for as long as possible. A couple of the officers may have recognized me, but she’s keeping a tight lid on it.”
“Good.”
“Word’s already starting to spread here,” Olem said.
“Can’t be helped. They saw us ride in.”
“I’ve sealed the camp,” Olem added. “No one in or out without orders until morning.”
“Excellent work.”
Tamas noticed that Olem was fingering the colonel lapel pins that Tamas had given to him outside Alvation. He was going to bring it up again.
“Sir,” Olem said.
Tamas snorted. “I’m not going to demote you, Olem.”
“I would prefer if you did, sir.”
“It’s not like I’ve given you your own command—at least, not beyond the Riflejacks. You’re a colonel on special assignment. It’s not unheard of.”
“But still…”
Tamas raised his hand in a gesture that he hoped would put an end to the argument, though he knew that hope was vain. Olem was utterly convinced he was not colonel material. “I like having you in a position where you can give orders,” Tamas said. “Try not to be so glum about it. I won’t give you a large command until you’re ready for it. Mark my words, you’ll be a general—a proper one—within ten years.”
Olem looked as if he were about to laugh in Tamas’s face. He seemed to quell the urge. “I won’t shave, sir. Not even to make general.”
“I like the beard,” Vlora said. “More soldiers should have them.”
“Now, don’t you start.” Tamas pointed at her. “I’ll take that shit from him because he’s my last line of defense against assassination. I won’t take it from you.”
“Fine job he did with Hilanska.”
Olem bristled at that, his back stiffening and his face going slack. Tamas glanced at Vlora. That had been coldhearted—she knew Olem had been away, following orders. And Olem took his duties very seriously. Tamas opened his mouth for a rebuke, but closed it when he saw the look on Vlora’s face. She had paled slightly and was looking at the floor. She already regretted saying it.
“Sir, is there anything else I can do?” Olem asked woodenly.
“Stay close,” Tamas said. “But, speaking of Hilanska…”
“I’ve got a whole company after him already. They’ll catch him and his cohorts and bring them back in chains.”
“You did well, Olem. And this minor thing”—he gestured to where the knife wound was hidden beneath his coat—“will heal in time.” He felt a twinge of pain when he moved, despite his powder trance.
“Yes sir.” The words were stiff.
Tamas rubbed his eyes. He usually used this time before a battle to meet with his commanding officers and plan backup strategies, but he’d already given the orders he’d needed to give, and everything was banked on the Kez answer to his fake communiqué. If it worked, they’d have an extra day in which to plan. If it didn’t, battle would commence within the hour.
He knew he should be doing something. But he just couldn’t bring himself to get moving. He tried to tell himself it was just exhaustion from the road—a few moments of quiet and he would be ready to take on the road. But he wasn’t just exhausted. His bones ached; every wound new and old hurt; and his mind longed for sleep. Age had caught up with him over these last few months.
And the fact that he couldn’t focus on the task at hand meant that he was ignoring something more important.
“Sir,” Vlora said quietly, “what of Taniel? We know where Hilanska sent his men. Perhaps…” She trailed off.
That couldn’t be more important than the task at hand. Taniel might be his son, but he was merely one man. This day determined the fate of an entire country. “I know my duties, Captain,” Tamas said.
Vlora looked as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she crossed the room to where Olem stood by the entrance. Olem eyed her, but did not stop her, when she reached inside his jacket for tobacco and rolling paper. She rolled a cigarette slowly, her eyes never leaving Olem’s face, then struck one of his matches and lit the end, inhaling deeply. The smoke rolled out of her nostrils and she offered the cigarette to Olem.
Tamas thought of telling them both not to smoke in the tent, but he wanted to see how this played out. It was a peace offering, something to take the sting off of what she’d said a minute ago.
Olem took the cigarette and clenched it between his lips. Tamas felt himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
The tent flap swung open and someone whispered to Olem. “A moment, sir,” Olem said, stepping outside.
Tamas found himself alone with Vlora. He knew she wanted to say something about Taniel. He stared at her, hoping that his expression brooked no argument, but as the silence went on, he almost wished she would say something. He could deal with her accusations and disappointment. He could fight that.
He couldn’t fight his own.
Olem stepped into the tent once more, letting in a breeze tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke. “Sir,” he said, “our man is back. The Kez didn’t send back an answer, but their brigades are already leaving the field. We have until tomorrow.”
Tamas got to his feet, coughing into his hand to hide the grimace of pain. “Then let’s hope the Kez haven’t gotten more cunning since we left. How many of your Riflejacks have you found so far?”
“Hilanska sent them all back to their own companies. I’ve tracked down about two hundred of the picked men.”
“Gather them up, would you? We have work to do.”
CHAPTER
13
Kresimir—or rather the doll used to control him—couldn’t be moved yet.
Taniel had been fighting a growing panic all night. He hadn’t slept. He’d barely eaten. The arrival of morning had only deepened his anxiety.
“We have to go,” Taniel said.
Ka-poel shook her head adamantly. She crouched over a casket made of sticks and dried grass. It was a box, no bigger than a soldier’s kit, meant to contain a god.
“They’ll be here by midday,” Taniel said.
Ka-poel didn’t respond. She’d finished the casket only a few hours ago. Every moment since had been spent painting thin, perfectly straight lines on the outside using a horsehair brush she’d produced from within her rucksack. She used her blood for ink and it dried as a surprisingly bright crimson, not at all the dark rust of dried blood.
The whole thing made Taniel uneasy—more so than usual.
“Half a company of Adran infantry armed with air rifles are camped less than two miles away,” he said. “They’re climbing from their tents now and breaking camp, ready to continue their search. They’ll find us by midday, if we’re lucky. We can’t possibly fight that many. They’ll kill us both and then free Kresimir. We have to go.”
Ka-poel didn’t seem to agree with him. She kept painting, her hand steady and slow, as if she’d not heard a word.
Taniel touched her shoulder. “Pole…”
She whirled suddenly, throwing the brush across the cave and leaping to her feet. He found himself retreating from her advance. Her face was twisted into a scowl and her fists were clenched at her sides. She backed him up against the very edge of the cave and leaned toward him, managing to loom even though she was so much smaller than he. She tapped her hand against her chest, then the side of her head, and made a negative motion. She repeated the series of gestures two more times and then pointed to the casket.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Taniel noticed for the first time that her hair and shirt were soaked with sweat. Her shoulders shook. Unshed tears shone in the corners of her eyes, a
nd Taniel finally realized how much this was taking out of her. He knew that Bone-eyes could create enchantments. They had made enchanted bullets called redstripes for the colonists in Fatrasta, and Ka-poel had even done it once for him—though he’d never witnessed the process. This must be like that.
He glanced at the casket and remembered the thin line of red that encircled the bullets and gave redstripes their names.
Of course. This was exactly like redstripes. She had to use her own blood in the enchantments.
Was that what she had done the other day when she wiped her blood on his cheeks? Enchanted him? How much energy did this take? He saw her again with new eyes, saw the depth of her exhaustion and how her eyes seemed sunken and her cheeks hollow. Her clothes hung off her as if on a tailor’s mannequin.
She was killing herself to keep Kresimir from breaking free, and yet she still used some of her power on him.
Ka-poel returned to her project, silent as always.
Taniel collected two knives and a bayonet that he’d taken from the Adran soldiers the other day. He regretted not stealing an air rifle. He could have at least used it as a pike with a bayonet on the end, but in his arrogance he’d broken them all in the Adran camp.
He kissed Ka-poel on the cheek, trying not to be put off by the way she turned away from him, and then left the cave behind, heading up and over the ridge and then following it to the east toward the Adran camp.
It didn’t take him longer than an hour to spot the advance elements of the company of Adran infantry. Six of them worked their way up the canyon slowly, cautiously, their rifles clutched in both hands and their eyes on the ridgelines high above them on either side.
He took up a position about three hundred yards above the floor of the canyon and hunkered down to wait.
The vanguard turned out to be fifty paces ahead of the rest of the company. The company was forced to advance in single file and, unlike the vanguard, they weren’t apprising themselves of their surroundings. They were fresh and overconfident. Some of the men joked, their chipper voices bouncing off the canyon walls. Taniel had hoped that his display to the squad the other day would make them more cautious, but that didn’t seem to be the case.